


Ordering Baklava

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Lizzie orders a baklava she is alone....or is she... Lizzington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordering Baklava

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist. Do not own the characters. Used a line from the show. Story is a little silly.

The first time Lizzie orders a baklava, she is alone. 

She is seated at a table set for two. Two wine glasses, two appetizer plates, and two sets of cutlery. She has never been more alone. Her black leather hand bag occupies the opposite seat, though it is not very talkative. She is in Goreme, a small town in Cappadocia, Turkey. The restaurant she chose is set in a windowless cave, the flicker of candles providing the only low light. How intimate, she thinks. How lonely she tries not to think. Lizzie is dining late, and though it is a tourist restaurant, it is fairly quiet. She enjoys eating late because families were always home at this time.

She had left Washington nine months ago. No one knows where she is. Or, if any of them did, they chose not to bother her.

The task force, with the help of Red, destroyed the Cabal eight months and twenty-nine days ago. Lizzie fled the day after. She left her badge and gun on her work desk the night before her departure, with a small resignation letter that didn't say much. Didn't elaborate on reasons. She knows what Ressler would have thought. That she’d gone with Tom. He would have told the others his theory. That she’d sailed away with Tom on his twenty something meter yacht and never looked back. How romantic. 

Or how insane.

Tom had stuck around for a long while, so she understands if Ressler came to such conclusions.

False accusations, however.

Deciding yes, she would love to take a look at the dessert menu, Lizzie nods to young, English-speaking waitress. 

Tom would have loved Lizzie to sail away. Pestered her about it for months. But, really, that’s only what he said. It’s not what she believed. So, she left him to do as he pleased. To sail away, far away and never, ever think about her again. Because she wasn't thinking about him. 

And she didn't wave him off.

She was already on a plane.

Her eyes scan the menu, nothing catching her eye because she hasn't been in Turkey long and she isn't yet familiar with their cuisine. Something with chocolate would not disappoint her though, so she is close to calling the waitress over, when one bold word stops her.

Baklava.

‘You haven’t touched your baklava.’

No, she hadn't. She was mad at him. Furious, even.

She remembers the night earlier, when she ordered room service and refused to dine with him. Ressler had shown up after to tell her Red was greatly disappointed she had not attended, and he was positively pouting for the majority of their dinner. 

‘Whatever.’

‘I’m telling you, Liz, I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.’ 

“Miss?”

“Uh,” Lizzie hadn't realized she’d zoned out, her eyes quickly scanning the menu again. “I’ll try the Baklava, thanks.”

“Walnuts or Pistachios?”

“Oh, uh,” Lizzie shrugged, smiling. “Pistachios?” She really has no earthly idea, but she does quite enjoy snacking on salted pistachios.

The young waitress smiles warmly, nodding at her choice. “It will not be long.” She collects the menu, and Lizzie is left alone again. 

She wasn't even hungry, really, and the thought of eating a baklava just made her feel incredibly sad.

When did desserts ever make someone feel sad?

It’s because she left Red without saying goodbye.

She purses her red lips around the rim of her glass and sips at her wine. Alcohol to cure the repetition of intrusive thoughts.....never works.

In her mind for the past nine months, the names Red, Reddington, infuriating man, were names that shall not be mentioned. 

What a load of crap, she thinks, taking a much larger sip of wine. She's not sure she had followed that rule once. 

She allows her mind to wander, just quickly, and she wonders what he is doing now. Right now. It was funny how this, out of every juicy detail, was what she wanted to know the most. Not to know whether he missed her (even though that was a close second). She just wanted to know what he was doing. Because he had to be doing something. He wasn't allowed to be hurt, immobile, or, he had to be alive.

He was just not allowed to not be alive.

So, he must be doing something.

Another thing she wondered- she quickly shook her head. The loose braid she had plaited down her shoulder tickled the skin on her neck. It stopped her thinking of Red and reminded her of how long her hair had grown. It was now just past her sternum, and she wasn't even considering getting it chopped. She liked how it became more wavy the longer it got. Maybe the length was a symbol of how much she had grown since Red. Since Tom. She was independent now, not seeking out comfort from men she didn't fully trust. Or any man for that matter. She was travelling the world alone, eating alone, sight seeing, going places she would never have imagined she would go. 

She believes Red would be quite impressed with how much she has seen. 

Closing her eyes, she lets the warmth on her cheeks calm. It embarrasses her how much she thinks of him.

Quite often when she starts thinking of him she just won't stop.

Things like, for instance, did he love her mother? He had never answered that. Just one, only one, firm, ‘no’ could have put a lot at ease. She was still no closer to finding the truth about her parents. The Cabal took up a great chunk of time, and when that had finished she just….needed a break. From it all. 

So, she gathered up her savings and left. It was not her intention to ‘find herself’ but just to…relax. See. See the world.

But Red had to know where she was, surely? 

He had her watched for the majority of her life. 

He would know where she was. He had to. 

And he had not made contact.

A plate slid in front of her. She glanced down and situated in the middle of the white ceramic was a small square of layered pastry. Syrup dripping down the edges, chopped pistachios garnishing the top, and a three tine fork placed next to it.

“This has been paid for by the gentleman.”

Lizzie looks up from the wonderful little masterpiece. “Excuse me?”

The waitress looks giddy, excited. “By the gentleman.”

Lizzie raises a brow, and looks around the dimmed restaurant. Okay, there were three guys sitting by themselves. Three bachelors. One was chatting on the phone, and the other two were thoroughly invested in their own meals.

“Which one?” Lizzie asks, rather confused.

“No, no,” The waitress shakes her head. “He said to tell you to have just one bite.”

Abruptly, and frightening the poor waitress, Lizzie pushes her seat back, scraping it painfully it along the wooden floor, bringing attention from other diners. She stands up, letting the napkin that was placed over her lap flutter to the ground.

“Where did he go?” She turns around to look near the front door of the restaurant, then to each of the tables again. She could barely understand the young woman’s answer, her heart loud in her ears. She felt so nervous, her skin clammy.

“He’s gone. He, he came and paid and went to-”

“I’ll be back.” Lizzie interjects quickly, leaving her bag and rushing for the front door. The waitress attempts to call after her, to stop her and explain, but Lizzie doesn't bother to listen. If he thinks he’s allowed to just leave! To come and see her and leave her. She didn't even get to look at him! She scrambles for the door handle, hands shaking, busy thinking if he would have gone left or right, to amazed and confused, and- 

“Uff..” Her chest hits into another, much larger, firmer, definitely warmer chest. She steps back, her hands coming up in reflex and landing on a thick woolen coat. 

“Don’t tell me you-” Red begins, but breaks off when she glances up at him.

At first, her eyes widen. Then, she blinks, and blinks, and she's scared, so scared she will start crying before she can even form hello. Her hands remain on his chest, and they are warmed from wool, and just from Red himself.

"Red."

She watches in astonishment, her vision partially burred as his tongue darts out, and licks his chapped lips. The left of his mouth twitches upwards, head tilting to watch her. 

"What-what are you doing here?"

Red shrugs, folding his hands in front of him as he glances around the room. "I've really missed Turkey and its exquisite little restaurants."

Lizzie shakes her head slowly, right, he misses Turkey. Unbelievable. No, really, unbelievable. She doesn't believe him.

"Nine months and--why today?"

Red just eyes her again, not giving her anything. He's obviously still the same. Learned nothing. Looking over her shoulder, he smiles joyfully.

"Ah, the baklava, Lizzie. Shall we?"

He leads her over, placing his hand on her shoulder because he can tell she's still a little unsure, a little frozen in place, and she lets him. As he pulls out her chair, he politely asks the young waitress for another fork. Lizzie watches as he sits opposite her and she finds it so strange, so bizarre that she was thinking about him just moments before...and now he's here. Just there, so close she can reach out and touch him if she wanted to. But she does want to. She could reach out and touch him if she were brave enough.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"No."

"Trust me," Red replies as the waitress brings him over the fork and an extra plate. "Baklava makes everything better, Lizzie." He stretches his arm over the table with his fork, slicing it down the corner of the sweet desert.

"Were you mad that I left?"

Red looks up from his task, surprised with her question. His expression remains soft, not quite what she expected. 

"Mad? No. Disappointed you didn't say good bye? Perhaps." He looks back down at the baklava and manages to get a decent mouthful on the fork. He smiles up at her, holding the fork out.

Lizzie looks at him offering her to take the first bite. She can't think of baklava right now, she wants to say. There is no time for baklava, Red! She however, can't quite find it in her to say either.

"Did you miss the Turkish restaurants or me?" She asks instead.

Red just looks at her. "You, Lizzie, obviously."

Swallowing at his answer, she watches the fork hovering between them. What? Should she just eat it? Off the fork that he's holding? 

"Were you in love with my mother?"

Red lowers his arm, the fork resting back on the plate.

"Really, Lizzie? You couldn't have had just one bite?"

"Yes, really." She answers firmly, even though he's chuckling. "I don't need to know anything else." She tells him.

Relenting, Red sighs. "I did love your mother, but, no, not in the way you are assuming."

"Okay," Lizzie breathes out. "Thank you. Was that so hard?"

"Not the hard part, no." Red replies.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Baklava?"

"Red."

"The truth is, Lizzie," Red responds quickly, his voice an octave lower, like he's getting rather frustrated with it all. "As hard as it may be for you to believe, I do love many people. Just, not in the way that I love you."

"I-what?"

"Now, baklava, Lizzie. Please."


End file.
